


In the Name of Science

by tristesses



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M, Seduction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-28 21:07:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/312202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/pseuds/tristesses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gaila knows a challenge when she hears one, even if it wasn't quite meant that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Name of Science

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first _Star Trek_ fic I ever wrote! Originally posted 5/30/2009.

Gaila is clear on the signs of human infatuation – she's spent enough time studying it to know the clues quite well. Humans sit in corners and sigh longingly, gazing at the objects of their affection. They're overprotective of said objects and they usually vehemently deny any romantic interest in them while wibbling quietly whenever someone mentions their objects in their presence. More so, rather than being upfront about it and getting down to fucking (which is all anybody wants to do, anyway), they're secretive, and dodgy, and they don't tell anyone except for their long-suffering roommates. And, while Uhura isn't quite so obvious about it as most people, she certainly isn't as sneaky as she'd like to think she is; even if she talks about Spock in only the most professional of terms, Gaila can still see the faint blush in her cheeks and how her eyes light up when she talks about his class – more specifically, _him_. Or at least Gaila hopes the glow isn't from xenolinguistics. Now _that_ would be more embarrassing than lusting after a Vulcan.

"So now that you're his student aide…teaching assistant…whatever, does that mean you're going to be spending a lot of time with him?" Gaila inquires, lying flat on her bed, stretching her toes to the ceiling. This gold polish looks good against her skin, and when it's on her fingers it brings out subtle highlights in her hair. Very nice.

"Teaching assistant, right," replies Uhura. She's got that look on her face again, the one that means she's off orbiting her own little planet. Gaila bets it's got a ridiculous haircut, pointy little ears, and zero personality. "I guess I will be, won't I? Lots of work to do. It'll be exciting, though, he speaks a few Vulcan dialects that I haven't had the chance to _hear_ , let alone study – "

"So lots of alone time, then."

Uhura shoots her a suspicious look. "Why?"

"Just curious," singsongs Gaila, rolling neatly off the bed and onto the floor, rummaging for her uniform.

"Gaila, don't bring people back here anymore. No matter how often I'm gone," snaps Uhura. She eyes Gaila for a moment, then disappears into the bathroom.

"Or what?"

Uhura pops her head out the door, a smirk plastered on her face. "Or I'll pour your special Orion heating massage oil down the drain."

She manages to duck back inside before Gaila can either lunge at her or come up with a sufficient comeback. She settles for sitting on the edge of the bed, kicking her feet against the side petulantly, and yelling, "You need to get laid!"

The shower kicks on right when Gaila decides her uniform's in the bathroom. Usually Uhura hates it when Gaila walks in on her, but really, there are some meetings a girl can't be late for (one with a certain Jim Kirk, in the courtyard, where they'll, er, _compare notes_ ), so she sneaks in, and there it is, lying in a red pile on the tile. She picks it up and remarks to the general vicinity of the shower, "You really do, though."

"Do what?" echoes Uhura. Gaila can hear the water against her skin, the way it whips through her hair. She basks in the mental image for a moment – her roommate's beautiful, after all – then replies, "Get laid. Preferably by your Vulcan. The restrained ones are always wild in the sack."

"Shut it, Gaila."

"He _is_ pretty sexy, though," continues Gaila, unrepentant. "I mean, that sleek hair, that green-tinged skin – maybe I'm biased, but I think that's just hot – I bet a lot of cadets in our class would be into that – "

"Seriously, Gaila, just shut up."

"Hit a nerve, did I?" No reply. "Here's the thing I don't understand, okay? You're gorgeous, smart, irritatingly practical, and totally his type. Why don't you just, you know, go for it? It's worth a try."

"No it's not." Her voice is slightly muffled, like she's holding the washcloth to her mouth or something.

"What are you talking about? It always is."

"Look," says Uhura, and she shuts the water off. "Turn around for a second, will you? I need a towel."

Gaila huffs, but does as she asks. She knows Uhura's limits, even if it's just a joke.

There's a minute of silence, broken only by the sounds of Uhura's morning routine – brushing her teeth, applying a light dusting of face powder, pulling a comb through her tangled hair.

"Leave it curly today," says Gaila. "It looks sexy that way."

"All I'm doing is working with Commander Spock today."

"Exactly. Trust me, I'm the expert."

"It doesn't matter." A doomed sigh.

It's really not like Uhura to be so melodramatic. Gaila quirks an eyebrow, but obviously Uhura can't see her, so she just says, "Why not?"

"I don't think he _cares_." Uhura's frustrated, and showing it. Gaila silently congratulates herself at breaking down her roommate's defenses. She _loves_ talking about sex (or problems with sex – and isn't it the cause of most of them?), and they never get to do it much. "I don't know what Vulcan mating habits are like, but if they're anything like ours…I don't think so. He's never shown any interest in me. Or in anyone. "

This sounds like a challenge. Gaila smirks and scoops her red uniform from the floor. "I think he does. Have interest, I mean."

"It doesn't matter. I'm being ridiculous anyway." Uhura turns to face Gaila, who's adjusting her breasts within her top to fit the way she likes them. "What are you doing?"

Gaila flashes her a sunny smile, then checks her teeth in the mirror. She looks particularly good today, very vibrant. _Perfect_. "Proving you wrong."

"Don't you dare say anything," says Uhura, then "Massage oils, remember? Don't be an idiot!" but by then Gaila's out the door, hair aglow, making her way purposefully to the Sciences wing.

Jim Kirk can wait.

 ****

. . .

"Cadet Gaila," says Spock, standing stiffly in the doorway to his office. "Do you require my assistance on an issue?"

"You could say that," Gaila says, eyeing him up and down. Underneath all that black he's really pretty fit. She licks her lips lasciviously and peers up at him through lowered lashes. He looks more perplexed than aroused, disappointingly. Vulcans.

"Might I inquire as to the nature of this issue?" he asks, voice annoyingly even. "If I recall correctly, you attended my class a full term ago." And did abysmally, his eyebrow seems to be saying. "I cannot think of anything that would necessitate my presence, unless the problem is with your software programming, in which case it would be logical to contact your professor rather than myself."

"My programming is the best in the Academy," Gaila snaps, nettled; her skill is with engineering and computers, not languages, and she'd rather this snide bastard not cast aspersions on her skills. Spock inclines his head in acknowledgment, and waits for her to state her business.

Gaila fumbles for a moment – seriously, how can Uhura like this guy? – then says impulsively, "I wanted to talk to you about Uhura."

His eyebrow arches, the only sign of emotion he's given so far. "Is there a problem with Cadet Uhura?"

Gaila gestured to his office. "Can we step inside?"

He hesitates, but allows her to enter – he lets her in his office, the one she knows no students enter, no colleagues either except with permission. So for her, an insolent nearly-failed cadet, to step into his domain – well, he only let her in because she mentioned Uhura, didn't he? Her lips curve in a smile, a triumphant little grin. She is so good at reading people that she understands the inner workings of a damn Vulcan. Uhura and her interpersonal communications skills would be proud. Especially since this blows her little woe-is-me-he-doesn't-care theory right out of the water.

She has one more experiment to test, though. Vulcan mating habits. She's never read anything about them, but she's a hands-on type of learner anyway.

As soon as the door closes, she spins around and pierces him with her eyes, her back straight. His throat bobs ever so slightly as he swallows. Like most people, he thinks the attractiveness of Orion women is down entirely to their pheromones. Gaila knows it's not; Orions are an exceptional race in every way: exceptionally beautiful, exceptionally clever, exceptionally wicked. The allure of an Orion woman is that hint of danger and exoticism, and no one, human or Vulcan, is immune to that.

"I don't want to talk about Uhura," she says abruptly, and when he tilts his head quizzically she cuts him off before he can question her. "And don't ask me what I want. I think you know exactly what I want."

"Cadet," he says, precise and monotone, "your actions are highly illogical and no doubt influenced by an unorthodox fluctuation of hormones. I suggest you exit this office and remove yourself to a private space for the duration – "

"You're trying to say you don't feel anything right now?" She slides onto his desk, all fluid motions, and crosses her legs. The hem on her standard-issue skirt is very, very short. She can tell he notices; she flexes the muscles in her calves and thighs and sees him twitch. Just slightly – very slightly – but enough. She leans forward, elbows on knees, and looks him dead in the eye. "You don't want me right now?"

He takes a step back, although she hasn't moved. "To proceed any further in the direction of this conversation would be highly illogical – "

"Admit it, you're dying to touch me." His eyes flicker. "No, you're not. You're dying for me to _touch you._ "

Ah, there it is, the slight hitch in his breathing, her cue to slither off his desk, not bothering to pull her skirt down. She stalks him across the room until he's backed into a bookshelf. Gaila feels luminous right now, as if her skin is going to catch flame from all the strength and certainty and lust bubbling within her now. She lets it show, in her eyes and her smooth flowing movements and the way she smiles at him, predatory, seductive.

"Tired of all the nights alone with your hand?" she asks, and reaches for the zip on the side of her top. "Sleepless nights, when you can't help but fuck yourself thinking of her no matter how wrong it is? Thinking of her with other women, maybe even with me – but they're just fantasies, you think, and it's natural, after all. I don't blame you. All men have needs, Commander, even Vulcans." She steps out of her uniform, leaves it in a pile on the ground, strokes the bare expanse of skin that shows outside of her lacy undergarments. Spock's eyes follow the glint of gold on the tips of her fingers. It was a good choice.

"My _needs_ , as you call them," he says, but there's the tiniest little waver in his voice, and just like that – _bam!_ – she knows she has him, "are perfectly controlled with no outside interference, much less the kind of assistance you are offering."

" _Liar_ ," she whispers against his ear, flicking his earlobe with her tongue, making him start. "You want this just as much as I do. No, you need it. I know you're half-human – go ahead, deny it all you want – and you absolutely crave contact." He isn't shaking, but he's close to it. "Anyway," she adds, inspiration striking, "I'm an Orion. I'm the best person to do this with in all of Starfleet, and you know that. That's only logical."

"You are factoring my compliance into this equation, which is an unknown variable and therefore negates your conclusion," he whispers, but she presses her body against his and his hands are lightly holding her waist (his skin is so _hot_ compared to hers, compared to humans) and she kisses his throat, kisses with bite, and murmurs,

"I can give you better than fantasies, Commander. Spock."

She sprinkles him with kisses and bites, and taking his hand, she draws him away from the wall, pushes him into his chair, and straddles him. His hands are clenched at his sides, his head tilted to face her, and his hair is just begging to be mussed and the look in his eyes is a heady mixture of lust and restraint and maybe a tiny bit of fear and she wants to _break_ him, take him, and she's unzipping his uniform top and he's letting her, and she's licking across the curve of his pointed ear, delicate like a shell, and sketching patterns on his chest with her nails. Her body's begging to be caressed so she arches against him, rubbing herself against the bulge in his slacks (if there's one thing he can't hide, it's _that_ ) and suckling on his ear, nibbling at his collarbone, and finally – _finally_ he takes the initiative and unclasps her bra, methodically, as if he's been practicing for ages, and rubs his thumbs across her nipples. She nearly cries out, so desperate for his touch, and the needy noise she does make is enough guidance to make him lower his head, lap at her breast, pull her closer so the juncture of her thighs is riding directly over his erection, and as she's stroking his skin, marveling at the dark hairs on his chest and belly, fingers pressing every erogenous pressure point she knows of, his eyelids flutter and he suddenly takes her by the jaw, kisses her deeply sweetly and she clings to him, rocked by a sudden transfer of pleasure (she forgot about the touch-telepathy, how could she forget, oh this is so _fun_ ), he takes her by the waist and flips her so she's on her back amid the neatly-organized papers on his desk.

He ruts up against her like an animal in heat, pinning her wrists to the tabletop as he sucks at her skin, moves one hand to hold her hip – she'll have bruises later, this Vulcan strength is _fantastic_ – and thrusts against her panties.

"Please," she whimpers, halfway there already, "please – " and he hisses as if displeased, then hooks his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and pulls them off, tossing them on the floor, and starts to rub his hand against her, rough and uneven, and she reaches for something to grasp and finds nothing, is left groping for the edge of the desk as her hips jerk spasmodically to the rhythm of his fingers, two thrust inside her, so brutal it's almost painful, and she's pinching her own nipples and her eyes are half-rolled-back in her head and she's _so close_ when he moves his hand, takes it away, and she opens her eyes to see him licking her juices off his palm. _Oh_ – it sends a shock through her, and when he touches her again, after unzipping his slacks – it's the lightest of touches, just on her thigh, but the spark and brief connection they make – two pleasures melding into one – it's nearly enough to send her over the edge, but not yet.

"Spock," she says, and she's almost begging but not quite, "Fuck me. I need you to – I want your cock – "

His eyebrow quirks, like he's saying Well, since you asked so politely, and Gaila realizes he's not even close to losing control.

His grip on her hips turns harsh and he slams into her, startling out a grunt, and she tries to sit up but slips back to a horizontal position as he thrusts again, then a pause – his forehead wrinkles as if he's trying to figure out some difficult problem, and Gaila's just about ready to scream when he slides a hand against her slickness, pressing his thumb lightly against her clit, and fucks into her again. This time, she does scream, and wraps her legs around his narrow hips and buries her hands in her own hair, tugging pain to add texture to the pleasure suffocating her body – it's his too, and the weight of two impending orgasms is too much for her, and by the time he does come, all over his desk, eyes shut and mouth trembling, as close to falling apart as she'll ever see him, she is too far gone to even appreciate the sight.

When her head's only somewhat discombobulated, she stretches hugely and luxuriantly, basking in a fuck well done. She peers up to see him watching her quizzically, a slight quirk in his eyebrow like a smile. She can see now how Uhura could find him attractive. There's no sign that he ever did anything untoward with her except a green flush in his cheeks (which she likes – it reminds her of home) and the fact he's still putting his shirt back on.

"Fascinating," he says after a moment.

"What?" she asks, legs dangling loosely off the edge of the desk.

"You don't appear to feel anything at the moment," he notes. "The majority of humanoid species would feel guilt or shame after such an experience."

"Do you?" she asks, and she actually is genuinely curious.

"Such emotions would not be conducive to any productivity that may occur," he tells her, and she rolls her eyes. It's something Uhura might say.

"You sound like Uhura."

There is a moment of silence, and when she looks back up at him he seems to be struggling with words. Gaila watches him for a moment, waiting for him to figure out what he wants to say.

"I trust," he begins after a while, "that you will not speak of this to Cadet Uhura?"

"As far as she knows, nothing ever happened here," Gaila assures him. A slight smirk flicks across her face. "As if I'd break my roommate's heart."

"I do not understand your statement."

"Commander – " Gaila flops her head back down and sighs. Humans are so inept, even half-Vulcan ones. "Look, how do you feel about her?"

He seems taken aback as he replies, "She is intelligent. I find conversations with her to be pleasant. I – she is generally agreeable to me."

"So is that your way of saying you want to fuck her? Or are you just a little in love with her, maybe?"

His voice is cold as says, "There is no room for emotions such as that within the Vulcan mind."

"Your desk is really comfortable, do you know that?" she asks, deliberately changing the subject, still lounging naked across his books and files. He turns away, hands behind his back, stiff and formal like he was at the beginning.

"It would be best if you left, Cadet."

"Oh, of course." Gaila hops off the desk, slipping into her uniform easily. "I know when I'm not wanted."

 ****

. . .

She meets Uhura in the corridor, no doubt on her way to Spock's office and waves energetically.

"You were totally wrong, by the way," she calls down the hallway. Uhura turns and looks at her confusedly. Gaila laughs and just shouts, "There's tons of interest there! Trust me!"

Humming, she skirts the edges of the quad and enters the courtyard where she's supposed to meet Jim. He's chatting up a couple cute cadets a few years younger than they are. One spots Gaila and blushes.

"Ooh, I like you already," Gaila says to her with a smile, kissing Jim on the cheek as she sits down next to him. She feels wonderful; she's out of Orion, successful in Starfleet, she just had a great fuck and from the looks of things is about to have another – oh yes, life is good.

"Gaila, you're throwing me off my game," Jim says, elbowing her. The pretty blushing brunette giggles and looks at them both adoringly. Gaila does enjoy threesomes quite a bit; she's always open to sharing.

"You didn't have game until you met me," she tells Jim, and they laugh. It spirals into the cerulean sky, chats with the puffy clouds ambling along in the atmosphere, and Gaila tilts her head back, the sun golden on her face.


End file.
